


Lifeforms

by erendriel



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bipolar Disorder, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fix-It, M/M, Melancholy, Post-Endgame, Slow Burn, Stony (Mentioned), Trauma, slightly AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-29
Updated: 2019-05-13
Packaged: 2020-02-09 22:15:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18647155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erendriel/pseuds/erendriel
Summary: The fighting is over, Steve and Bucky try to build their lives back up with each other's support. It proves difficult, but not impossible. They find out things about themselves they were afraid to know, and things they had deep down always known. They go through ups, they go through downs, but they always have each other.





	1. Building a life

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers for Endgame, do not read if you haven't seen Endgame.

It was hard to believe that it was really over. It was also hard to believe who they had lost, and how they had lost them. They didn’t even get the chance to truly say goodbye. Things had all happened so fast or so far away. Everything had been complete chaos, it took a while for everyone to be caught up on the timeline, all that had happened while they were gone. All that had happened even while they were back. It was a lot to take in, and it was a lot to process. There was grief, there was relief. It was a roller coaster of emotions, and it was hard to cope with. But at least they had each other.  
After Steve had returned the stones to their right time and place, they had regrouped. He’d come back to the others, and it was time for everyone to move on with their lives again. Or at least try to pick it up where they left off before everything started going downhill.  
For Bucky it was hard to process. He didn’t really have a purpose before, just when he had been fixed, he had to fight again. Then he’d fought, and he disappeared again, and the moment he came back they were in the middle of a fight. All he had ever truly known in his life was the war, fighting, violence. Now that was all different.  
He had rented an apartment with Steve. He didn’t think he would cope well on his own, and honestly neither did Steve. The both of them just needed someone to lean on. Maybe it wasn’t completely healthy to be sharing their struggles only among the two of them, but Bucky wasn’t ready to share his thoughts with anyone else. Steve could find some support with Sam and the others, but Bucky didn’t want to pour his heart out to them. The only one he might have considered talking to was Natasha, but that was no longer an option either.  
It all seemed very domestic from a distance, but if people knew what happened behind the scenes. The nightmares they would get. The amount of times Steve had woken up at night, crying because of what happened that day, crying because he missed his old friends. It really wasn’t pretty.  
As for Bucky, it was a miracle if he even fell asleep in the first place. His mind was plagued with thoughts. With anger, sadness, and wonder about life. What was he going to do now that no one needed him to fight anymore? Did he even have a purpose at all beside that? He had considered joining the army again, but Steve had- with much struggle- managed to talk him out of it.  
“You can’t do that, Buck.”  
“Why not, I’d be good at it.”  
“You’d be good at it, but it wouldn’t be good for you.”  
It had gone on for weeks, Bucky listing off the reasons he should be joining, Steve protesting against it. After everything that had happened, normal lives seemed like such a foreign thing to them. But Steve was trying to get acquainted with it. Going out during the day, trying to keep himself occupied. Visiting museums, and sometimes even managing to get Bucky to go along with him. Sometimes late in the evening they would be sitting on the couch, watching some television programme, and whenever Steve got bored he would take out his sketchbook.  
“What are you doing?”  
“I’m sketching…”  
“But why do you keep looking at me?”  
“Because I’m sketching you.”  
Bucky would chuckle and stay seated, watching the television. He didn’t mind when Steve sketched him, he knew he loved to draw, and if he wanted Bucky to be his muse for moment, then that was fine by him. It wasn’t like he was going to get up from the couch anyway, it was much too comfortable to move. And perhaps he was a bit lazy too.  
Bucky still tried to piece his life together. He’d never really had enough time to focus on it, what with all the fighting and violence. He finally had a chance to try and get a hold of himself, but it was difficult. Some days he would refuse to leave the apartment. Steve would be worried about him and try to convince him it was good if he went and got some fresh air, but after arguing back and forth they would always end up with the same agreement. Bucky would sit on the balcony for a few hours but he wouldn’t go out into the world.  
Other days he felt energized, he felt the need to do all kinds of things. Sometimes he wanted to do something with Steve, other times he’d just go out alone. He would take a taxi to some place and go biking in the forest, running on the beach, one time he even suggested they go on a spontaneous cruise, but Steve got the idea out of his head saying he’d love to go on a vacation with Bucky, but they would have to plan it out first.  
It wasn’t that Steve didn’t like doing spontaneous things. But he knew Bucky could be completely out of it again the next day, and he didn’t want to be stuck on some cruise ship full of strangers while Bucky would be panicking in their room. He didn’t want that for either of them.  
Piece by piece they were picking their lives back up, and boy was it difficult. But they were beginning to accept that this was their reality now. They even started doing regular visits to Natasha and Tony’s graves. They would often both let out a few tears, but as time progressed they just stood there, shoulder to shoulder, quietly looking down at the graves with a bittersweet taste of good memories and the pain of their loss.  
They desperately hoped they were in a better place, and that they were together. No matter how much those two bickered, they always found their way back to each other. Sometimes when Bucky would notice Steve was on the verge of tears, he would try to cheer him up.  
“Do you think he’s doing it again?”  
“What?...”  
“Making stupid jokes, trying to impress everyone.”  
Steve would chuckle. “Even in heaven?”  
“Especially in heaven.”  
Bucky would give Steve’s shoulder a gentle nudge, and he would smile as they walked back to the car. Their lives weren’t perfect, they knew they could never be perfect again, but with each other they would find a way to get through it. They always would.


	2. Memories

It proved to be difficult to keep it together for Bucky. Some moments were more difficult than others, but it was always the small ones that really got to him. It was early in the morning, five, maybe six am. The sun was just beginning to rise outside, but Bucky was already up. He hadn’t slept much in the first place. It was around 4:30 when he decided he had enough of stirring in his bed and got up to take a bath.  
It was supposed to be relaxing, a moment to turn all your thoughts off for a while, just be engulfed in warm water and not a sound in the world. But every time his left arm bumped against the edge of the tub, and the noise was just too harsh to ignore, he would be reminded of memories he so desperately tried to forget.   
It took one, two, three, four times before he bursted into silent tears. The sound was stuck in his throat, but his tears flowed freely. He didn’t want to wake Steve, it was so early. He’d pulled his knees up to his chest and let his hair fall into a curtain in front of his eyes. He wished he could just shut everything out sometimes, but that thought pattern would only lead back to cryo, and that would summon bad memories again. Every single corner of his mind seemed to be haunted by thoughts that didn’t belong there. Every happy memory associated with something that made it feel like someone was squeezing his throat with all the strength in their body.  
It was difficult to keep his sobs quiet. He had never realized how much he trembled while he cried, only when he had to try his best to keep it silent. Yet it was as if Steve could sense whenever Bucky was in distress, because after a few minutes, he heard a soft knock on the bathroom door, and Bucky immediately held his breath as if Steve hadn’t already heard him.  
“You okay in there, Buck?”   
“M’fine…”   
He clearly wasn’t, and Steve knew that as well, but he also respected it if Bucky didn’t want to go into detail about was bothering him while he was still in the bathtub.  
“I’ll go make us some breakfast, will you join me?”   
“Yeah…”   
The water sloshed a bit as Bucky let go of his legs and pulled the stopper out of the tub. The water began to drain, and he heard Steve’s footsteps go down the stairs. The moment he was sure Steve couldn’t hear what was going on anymore he broke into silent sobbing again, slowly getting ready to put on a mask again.  
He was silent during breakfast, he was silent most of the day. But Steve had already seen his red eyes, heard his sobs. He knew something was up, he didn’t know what, but he wasn’t one to pry. Steve always had this natural aura of trust around Bucky. If he wanted to tell him something he knew he always could. He’d just have to give Steve a single look and the man would be sitting down, listening to whatever Bucky had to say.   
Some days he just wanted silence. He didn’t want to talk about anything, he just wanted to know that Steve was there. He wasn’t alone, his best friend was right by his side. Even if he had plans for the day, he always made sure to carry his cellphone in case Bucky needed him. He would rush right back home, but Bucky barely ever did that, he didn’t want to be a burden to Steve, even if he had assured him he wasn’t so many times before.  
Bucky didn’t go out that day, he didn’t go out on the balcony either. Steve had no plans, so he was in the apartment doing some chores here and there. Bucky felt guilty for not offering help, but every time he looked at Steve, conveying his guilt with his eyes, Steve would smile and give him that gentle look only he could really make.  
That night he couldn’t sleep again. It was nothing new, and by now it didn’t even frustrate him anymore. Some nights he’d lay on his back for hours, staring at the ceiling. He’d walk around the apartment, drink some water, sometimes peek through the crack of Steve’s door to see him fast asleep. He looked so peaceful when he slept. Sometimes he had nightmares, whenever Bucky saw that happening he would step into the room and gently nudge him awake. He’d talk with Steve or simply sit on the edge of his bed until he was calm again. He felt useful in those moments.   
He didn’t like seeing his friend in distress, but it gave him a purpose. He could help, and be there for him the way Steve was always there for Bucky. But he’d rather they were just fine, with no worries and nightmares. That was like something out of a fairy tale, perfect, but too good to be true.  
Bucky got bored of his ceiling today, and the slight breeze blowing in through his window was beckoning him to go outside. There wasn’t anyone out at this hour, surely. Just the occasional dog owner taking their puppy for a late stroll through the park. But no kids, no businessmen rushing to their destination, no heaps of teenagers coming back from school. He decided to take a walk.  
People always said taking walks would clear your head, but Bucky only found his thoughts racing all over the place. He wasn’t sure if it was the breeze or the emotions that made his eyes well up with tears. But he had to brush them away with his sleeve multiple times.  
He came across a black stray cat, even in the dark he could see it was blind in it’s right eye. The cat meowed at Bucky, and after a moment’s hesitation he crouched down beside the little guy and pet his head. The cat circled around Bucky a few times before he jumped up slightly, his front paws clinging onto Bucky’s knee as if begging him not to stand up and leave. The cat looked skinny, and if he didn’t know any better he would even say he looked sad.  
He couldn’t get it past his heart to just leave him there. He lifted the cat up carefully and cradled him in his arms, gently scratching behind his ears. Then he returned to the apartment.  
They didn’t have any cat food, so Bucky gave him some leftovers of their grilled chicken and set down a bowl of water for him. He’d laid down on the couch, and after a few minutes the cat joined him, nestling himself on Bucky’s chest, purring loudly. Then they both fell asleep.


	3. Sketches

Steve had found Bucky fast asleep on the couch the next morning. He’d avoided waking him up, since he so rarely truly slept. He did take notice of the cat, but he decided to ask only when he’d woken up by himself. He refrained from making breakfast as not to make any noise yet, and when Bucky awoke by himself, Steve was seated on a chair with his sketchbook, sketching the scene before him; Bucky with a sleeping cat on his chest.   
“Who’s your friend?” Steve had asked when he was awake.  
Bucky had glanced at the cat in thought before mumbling his answer. “Tony”   
For a moment he thought it may have been a bad idea, the muscles in Steve’s face tensed for just a split second, but it was enough for Bucky to notice it. Then a sad smile played on his lips and he nodded his head.  
They silently agreed not to discuss it any further, but they decided to go out to buy some supplies to take proper care of Tony that day. They would take him to the vet to get him checked up, and spoil him with his very own new place when they got back. Bucky didn’t explain when or where he found him. It wasn’t the first time he had went out on a walk at night, Steve could easily puzzle it together. The two could communicate without even having to say a single word to each other.   
At the end of the day, Tony was a proud new member of the Rogers-Barnes household. He’d gotten a wash up at the vet and was all good to go. He would gain some weight in no time, and he would make a home of their comfortable apartment.  
“There’s an exhibition soon.” Steve had said while the three of them were nestled on the couch, watching some movie about a tragic love story in the 30s. “Amateur artists can submit one of their works and they will be displayed at their museum.”   
Tony was curled up in Bucky’s lap, purring softly as Bucky looked up to meet Steve’s eyes. He already knew he wanted to join, but he encouraged him nevertheless as if the idea hadn’t already been planted and growing in Steve’s head.  
“You should do that.” He’s said, plain and simple. Steve nodded his head.  
“I wanted to ask if I could submit one I made of you?”  
So that’s why he hadn’t just told him he was going to join, but rather leave some guessing to Bucky. He didn’t mind that, he knew Steve really enjoyed sketching, and if he wanted to submit a sketch of Bucky then so be it. He was just a little surprised that was his topic of choice. He saw Bucky every single day, he’d figured he would want to submit something a little more special, a little more beautiful.  
“If you want to…”   
“I want to.” Steve said resiliently, but he smiled. He was obviously trying to get it through to Bucky that, yes, he really chose him for his topic and nothing else. He could read him like an open book, there was no keeping secrets from Captain America, clearly.  
“Why me?” Bucky asked curiously, but it came out much more melancholy than he had intended. As if he was asking why anyone would pay any mind to him. He hadn’t wanted to sound like that, but it had already been said. There was no taking it back.  
“There’s a topic, everyone submits a portrait that conjures a certain emotion. It doesn’t matter which one, as long as it’s clear by looking at it.” He explained, his face lighting up that way it always did when he talked about something he was passionate about. Bucky could listen to him talk about things he loved all day long. It didn’t even matter if he was interested in the topic himself, Steve always managed to make things sound much more exciting than they may be to someone else. Just by the way he spoke about something you could instantly know whether he was actually interested in a topic or just being informative.  
Bucky chuckled. “So what’s yours? Sad? Bored? Annoyed?” He had jokingly asked with a slight grin on his face.  
He could swear Steve’s face fell only a second. “Happy…” He’d mumbled.  
He was a little confused, to say the least. He didn’t always notice when Steve was drawing him, but he remembered that most of the time he didn’t exactly smile when he did.   
“Can I see it?”  
Steve brought his sketchbook. Not the small one he carried around everywhere, but the bigger one he only brought if he was sure there was going to be something he wanted to capture. He flipped through the pages filled with sketches of anything you could imagine. Buildings, nature, fruit, people, animals. Anything that captured Steve’s eyes would inevitably end up on paper.  
His breath caught in his throat. Steve had stopped flipping through the pages and showed Bucky a sketch of himself. He was smiling, his cheeks were stained with tears, but he was smiling nonetheless. He was sitting on the very couch they were sitting on in that moment, looking up with a light shining on his face.  
He remembered that day, it was the day they were watching some footage they had taken on Tony’s birthday. Bucky wasn’t even there when it happened, but the videos and the pictures were enough to convey just how much fun they were all having. Natasha had been recording, she’d captured Thor and Bruce talking about mythology and science, Clint and Rhodey taking shots and laughing at the bar, Steve hitting the dance floor like it was still the 40s and laughing when he’d finally noticed Natasha had been recording him, and then there was Natasha’s chat with Tony. The moment Bucky’s smile was accompanied by tears.  
“Hey there birthday boy!”   
“Nat! There you are, look at this, you filming this?” Tony was pointing at the camera and Natasha must have nodded at him, because moments later he was smiling as if he were on TV and addressed the camera directly.  
“You having fun watching this? Clint is drinking all my booze, can you believe that?” He’d gasped dramatically and the camera shook a little as Natasha laughed, Tony was clearly drunk, and he was having a lot of fun.  
“Okay you watching? I’ve got a trick, here watch this.” He’d said, picking up a shot glass filled with what looked like whiskey and taking a peanut from the little bowl on the table. He threw the peanut into the air and downed the shot, sticking out his tongue right in time for the peanut to land on it as Natasha cheered him on. Tony chewed the peanut with a wide smile and made a little bow while Natasha giggled, then the recording had stopped.  
“Bucky?” He realized he’d been staring at the drawing, tears welling up in his eyes as he was thinking back at the recording. He sniffed and tore his gaze away from the paper, looking up at Steve again.   
“That’s… Uh- it’s beautiful…” He’d managed to mumble, his voice cracking ever so slightly. Steve knew that look, and he knew what that voice meant all too well. Before Bucky could even begin to protest, Steve put his sketchbook aside and wrapped him up in a warm hug, Tony shifting a little in Bucky’s lap as he cried softly into Steve’s shoulder. He couldn’t see Steve’s face, but he heard him sniffle, and he felt the fabric of his shirt starting to cling to his shoulder. He was crying too, and they didn’t say a word.


	4. Scream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The day the void in Bucky's heart filled with agony.

There was a void in Bucky’s life. A void that he didn’t know the origin of, and had never known. He only realised it was there after the fighting was done. He had never had a purpose in life other than to fight, what was he going to do now?   
He found himself stifling his emotions, everything he felt. He tried to become numb, but it proved difficult, almost impossible without some bad habit to instill the numbness. He didn’t want to take drugs, he was finally in control of himself and he wouldn’t give that up again. But he was hurting, and it was difficult to cope with life.   
The simplest things could upset him. Some days he would barely eat, only when Steve noticed and said something about it would he even consider making himself something. His arm felt heavier than it ever had, and he felt trapped by the walls of the apartment, even though he could leave at any moment.  
They both didn’t know why their conversation had stirred in the direction it did, but they found themselves finally discussing what had been unsaid for so long.  
“You loved him, didn’t you?”   
It was Bucky who had first spoken up about it, much to his own surprise. He didn’t even look at Steve when he spoke up, but he could feel his friend’s eyes bore into his head.  
“What do you mean?”   
“Tony.” He finally looked at Steve.  
“Of course I did, he was my friend…” Steve had said, but Bucky knew Steve was well aware he was talking about a different kind of love. The kind of love Bucky knew he would never have, because who could ever love the winter soldier? It didn’t matter if that hadn’t been his choice, it was still a part of him that he couldn’t erase. A part no one other than Steve would truly be able to accept. If Steve even really did…  
“You know what I mean.” Bucky had replied and shook his head. Steve sighed, but his brows furrowed a little, and that was all the answer Bucky really needed to know the truth. He simply nodded. He nodded, but for some reason he was overcome by a pressing feeling. Something inside him was telling him to get out of there. Like the room wasn’t safe, and the walls were closing in on him. Why was this happening now? Why did he feel such panic over nothing. Nothing was wrong. Nothing is wrong. He kept telling himself over and over, but to no avail.  
“I’m going for a walk.” Bucky had quickly announced before he stood and strided toward the door quickly.  
“Bucky…” Steve had called out, and he had heard the man stand up from his seat on the couch, but Bucky didn’t stop. He didn’t even glance back, he simply took his coat, slipped it on, and left the apartment. He needed to be out of there, to breathe.   
The streets weren’t comforting either. It was dark out, and the only light came from the reflections of the moon and the occasional lamp by the side of the road. But he didn’t aim to go deeper into the city, he wanted to go to the edge, walk into the forest. Bucky had insisted they get an apartment on the outskirts, so he wouldn’t feel claustrophobic in the city. It was crowded, it was filled with potential problems. He didn’t want to have to face that.  
Before he knew, he was walking into the woods, he sped up his pace, going deeper and deeper into the dark and dense forest. He could barely even see where he was going, but he kept running. It wasn’t until a few minutes had passed that he finally stumbled upon the inevitable, he tripped. He tripped over a tree branch and fell down, his hands catching most of the fall. His hair fell in front of his eyes, and he saw even less than he had before. With a few deep breaths, he rolled over onto his back and stared up at the tops of the trees and the stars in the night’s sky. The stars were bright, there were barely any clouds. The longer he stared up, the more it felt like the trees were rising. Growing taller, making him seem even less significant than he already felt he was. Then the tears came.  
He didn’t make a sound when they rolled down his cheeks and soaked up into his hair. He didn’t make a sound when he felt something wet on his leg and reached for his thigh to find his jeans had been scraped open and hot blood was trickling from his leg, soaking into his jeans and staining them even darker than they were.   
He couldn’t stay there. He forced himself to get up and keep walking. He pressed down on his injured leg harder than he should have. He wanted to feel the pain, it was one of the few things he could still rely on to know he was alive. He was breathing, and this wasn’t some sick nightmare he couldn’t wake up from.   
He walked, and walked, and the tears just kept coming. They were soundless, until they weren’t. They became sobs, and sobs became wails. He felt so weak, he’d never felt this weak and pathetic in his life. He hated himself. He didn’t want to be alive, but he was afraid what would happen if he died. What if there was a God? He knew there was no way he would ever go to heaven. Would he go to hell? Where he belonged. Burning along with all the evil he had helped defeat. But none of that could erase his past. None of that could make the people he killed come back to life.   
He leaned against a tree. He held onto a low hanging branch and shut his eyes tightly to try and make himself stop crying. He needed to get over himself, why was he crying? This was his own fault. He should have killed himself when Hydra first captured him. When he was still pure, only a soldier who had fought for his country like he was supposed to. He should have found a way to end it right then and there. But he hadn’t, and now he was here. It was his fault, he was sure of it.  
He inhaled deeply, he held onto the branch so tightly it snapped in half. Another reminder that he was less than human. His breath shuddered, and he screamed. He screamed into nowhere. His voice crackled, skipped a little, like a broken record playing an old melody. He screamed for his pain’s sake, for dragging Steve into this mess, for all the people he killed, for everything Hydra had done to him and so many others. He screamed because there was nothing else he could do. He was hurting, and he couldn’t hide it. He was too weak, he was pathetic. He screamed, because he hated himself.


End file.
